


Some Princes Don't Become Kings

by Unhuman_feeling



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Homelessness, M/M, Pizza, TW: abusive brother, homeless patrick, im writing this to deal with own crap but if you want to read it you can, kind pete, self-projection, the take this to your grave apartment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unhuman_feeling/pseuds/Unhuman_feeling





	1. He Probably Didn't Mean To Hurt You

And so Patrick was on the streets. As he fumbled with the zippers on his backpack, he took a nervous breath as he accepted this. There wasn't really any going back from this now. He'd made this decision, and he had to stick to it.

It wasn't an easy task. Anyone from the outside looking in would have called Patrick stupid. He had loving, upper-middle class parents, and a room in a house that some people would give their left arm for. He had everything he ever needed, and never went hungry. He was able to live at home, but with the freedom of a college student, and had a new car to drive himself back and forth between his job, his classes and home.

Except it wasn't home anymore.

People who saw what Patrick was doing would have called him crazy. He had all those lovely things, yes, but he also had a demon. The demon lived in the same home as him, lived in the room down the hall, and also happened to make his life a living hell.

Patrick was older than Kevin, sure, but when it came to personality, they were chalk and cheese. Patrick didn't know anything about sports, or being social, or doing anything remotely 'cool', but Kevin was right in the middle of all of that. Patrick was 19, heading into his second year of his degree, and Kevin was 16, still at school, but was probably on the skirts of being kicked out soon anyway. There's only so many times you can come to school with a hangover before they decide you probably need to go somewhere else to get an education.

Patrick was well-behaved. He did all the right things. Kevin was not. He went out of his way to do the wrong things. And Patrick just couldn't take it anymore.

It had been this way since they were kids. Kevin was always the troublemaker, and Patrick was always the one running around to clean up his messes. When they were little, Kevin used to pinch Patrick from around corners, or when they had to share the couch. Kevin would always take Patrick's toys, always break Patrick's things, but as their Mom put it; "He'd just little, Patrick. You did the same thing to Meagan when you were his age. He'll grow up. Stop being so sensitive!"

Patrick had never done of those things to Meagan, but it was far better to just listen to the authority and nod, rather than argue.

The relationship hadn't changed as they grew older. Patrick learned how to clean the dishes, do the washing, tidy the house, vacuum and keep everything in order. Kevin learned how to eat the leftovers in the fridge before anyone else got to them, and bring in the crocodile tears when Patrick tried to explain how he needed to put his piles of dirty dishes in the dishwasher, instead of leaving them strewn around the loungeroom to attract mice.

And every time, his mother had the same reaction. "He's younger, Patrick. Of course he's not going to have as much responsibility as you, the same way you didn't have as much responsibility as Meagan did. Kevin will learn as he gets older, in the same way that you did."

Meagan was 7 years older than Patrick, and had left for college on the other side of the country when he was 11. It had been 8 years since she left, and Patrick's roles and responsibilities around the house hadn't changed. Neither had Kevin's.

When Kevin hit high school, everything went up a whole new level. Kevin went and made friends with the wrong kids, and it wasn't long before he was out every Saturday night, stumbling home drunk while Patrick was trying to study for his SAT's while the house was quiet. It became hanging out with friends at the mall, and then it turned into shoplifting. Then it turned into fighting, at school, at home, with everyone. And then Kevin grew a few inches taller than Patrick, and Patrick had no chance against him.

He couldn't afford to stay in a college dorm. After Kevin had been expelled from the public school for showing up while under the influence of drugs, his Mom now put her money into Kevin's expensive private school, which he was on the verge of being kicked out of as well. Sure, he had a job, but he earned minimum wage, and it was nowhere near enough to cover rent just about anywhere. But it was okay. He had his car. He had his laptop. He had his guitar. That was all he needed as he pushed himself into his car, and out of the driveway.

It wasn't until he pulled into the McDonald's and quickly made his way to the bathroom that he was able to get a good look at his face. The bruising was already starting to show, swelling around his eye and around his nose. His nose was bleeding, too, and he quickly grabbed some toilet paper. It didn't feel broken, which was a huge relief. Patrick splashed some cold water on his face to ease the throbbing, and sat back down in the restaurant as he considered his next move.

He could go home, to Kevin, to his Mom, to his house. At this point, that wasn't an option. He wasn't going back there. Not right now. Maybe one day, when Kevin moved out, but not right now. He needed to focus on himself, getting himself to class tomorrow, and then work afterwards. He could sleep in his car - if he laid the seats down then the back made a decent bed. Sure, it was fucking cold in Chicago at the moment, but if he went to Kmart and got himself a nice pillow and blanket set, he'd be fine. He had a full tank of gas, a few changes of clothes, and he was going to be fine.

The guilt sat heavy in his stomach. His Mom would be horrified. She always tried to convince him that Kevin's actions _weren't that bad,_ and that _he has ADHD, you know. He can't control himself. It's not his fault._ As much as Patrick had tried to listen to those words and assure himself that Kevin wasn't doing anything wrong, it never made sense. Kevin knew _exactly_ what he was doing. ADHD was a focus thing, and he'd done enough research to know that beating the shit out of your family was not a common trait.

Here, he could sleep in peace. His car wasn't the house that he'd grown up in, but he was safe here. He didn't have to worry about waking up to find Kevin standing over him with a nerf gun pointed as his face, like had happened when they were younger. He would be able to sleep peacefully, not having to worry about whether or not he was going to be murdered in his sleep.

His Mom would call and beg him to come home, but he promised himself that he wouldn't give in to her this time. Sure, she'd listen to Patrick's side of the story and try to emphasise with him, but Patrick had learned by now that it was a façade. Kevin was her beautiful baby boy, and Patrick's side of the story would never even come close.

 

\-----

 

Patrick came home a few days later, burning a fever and with a cough so violent and put him in no position to be driving. Patricia sobbed with relief and hugged her son close, and Patrick let the guilt sink in for making his mother worry. She had enough on her plate, with Kevin getting in another fight and breaking his knuckles. He'd be home to take care of her now, and clean up the house, judging by how terrible the floors were as he wandered in.

He took some painkillers, made his mother some lunch from the food left in the pantry from last time he went shopping, and had the first warm shower in a week. Then he mopped, vacuumed, tidied away everything in the lounge room, and did the dishes. Patricia had enough going on without worrying about the house, right? Patrick couldn't offset the damage that Kevin was doing to her, but he could ease her stress as much as he could, even if it made his whole body ache.

Then he napped the pain off, tidied his room, put some washing on, and did some work on his assignment at the kitchen table. He was feeling a lot better (probably from the medications), before he heard some familar footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Pattycakes!" Kevin grinned ear to ear, but Patrick didn't return the smile. "You're back!"

"I, uh, yeah. I came back to check on Mom. What did you do to the lounge room, by the way? There were like 30 plates in there and I've been gone for like 48 hours."

Kevin shrugged, opening the fridge and pouring some milk into his mouth, straight from the jug. Patrick winced. "Can you get a glass, dude? Really? Is it that hard?"

"Tastes better from the jug." Kevin shrugged. "I see your nose is fine."

Patrick instinctively put a hand to his face protectively, and frowned. "Just leave me alone, Kev. Please. This is due on Tuesday and I just-"

"It's my house! I can be here if I want to be!" He grinned. "MOM! PATRICK SAYS I'M NOT ALLOWED IN MY OWN KITCHEN!"

"We're not kids anymore." Patrick scowled. "Just, please. Why does everything have to be an argument with you? I'm just trying to keep everything clean, so we don't share germs."

"I don't have any germs. You do. That's why you're using a cup and I can drink from the jug." He gave Patrick that little smirk that drove him wild, and Patrick clenched a fist. "You wanna go?"

"No, I _don't._ " He hissed angrily, staring back at his computer.

Kevin laughed and scuffed up Patrick's hair before taking the milk jug back to his bedroom.  "Thought so. Bye, Pattykins."

 

\-----

 

Nights in his car were becoming a regular thing. He'd go home every now and then, but Patrick couldn't sleep there anymore. Not since Kevin had stolen his computer and sold it while he was sleeping.

He'd bought another one, a much shittier one, from the pawn shop, but it wasn't quite the same. He was doing his best to stay up to date with his assignments on it, but it was hard when the space bar only worked half the time. Patrick was doing his best, but there was only so much he could do.

The driver's seat in his car was the lounge room, the passenger seat was the office (where he did his assignments), and the backseat had become his bedroom. He didn't even bother unpacking when he came home these days. Every time he came home, his room would have been ransacked once again. It was easier to just stay in his car. It was safer that way, anyway.

Sure, he looked a mess, with dark circles under his eyes from the poor quality sleep, and scruff on his face because he hadn't found a clean enough bathroom to shave in, but it was fine. The McDonald's employees would let him sit up the back of the restaurant to use their wifi, as long as he bought a cheeseburger every couple of days. Otherwise, generally he ate what leftovers he could get from work. They didn't always have some, but working at a Pizza Hut always has it's benefits when somebody returns a pizza because apparently there weren't enough olives in it.

Patrick wasn't a huge fan of olives anyway. A quick buzz in the microwave on campus, and it was good as new.

He didn't have a bed anymore, but he had his car, and some thermal blankets he'd found at Target, and he didn't have to live with Kevin anymore. No more bloody noses, no more broken arms. No more stealing. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

He avoided going home, these days. He'd go back occasionally, to see his mother, to straighten the house out, to keep _her_ safe from Kevin. But most times he showed up, the house was empty except for his baby brother, who had taken a disliking to Patrick leaving the nest. Patrick had put dinner on for everyone, and was heading out when the hand hit the back of his head.

He'd woken up a few hours later, and left the house quickly. He wasn't in a state to drive, with the dizziness, and the vomiting, and the lack of co-ordination, but he wasn't game to stay either. He parked himself next to the building he had a class in the next morning, and stumbled into the kitchen with the day-old pizza box and his student ID card in case he needed to remind anyone that was allowed to be here, and wasn't some homeless guy taking advantage of the microwaves.

Well, he sort-of was, but he was on an academic scholarship, so he was probably okay to stay in this dining hall for a while.

Pizza had lost it's flavour over the past 3 months. When Patrick first got a job at the Pizza Hut, he was overjoyed to have a job making his favourite food. These days, the greasy cheese was bland and disgusting, but he needed to eat while he tried to recover from that punch. He was fine. Kevin probably didn't mean to knock him out, or anything. He just missed his big brother being home, right? Yeah. It was all fine.

"H-Hey buddy? Are you okay?"

Patrick glanced up from the pizza box to see another kid standing there. Probably about the same age as Patrick, but much better kept. He wore a Metallica hoodie that looked way warmer than the sweater Patrick had on right now, and skinny jeans, but even though the eyeliner looked a bit stupid, he seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine." Patrick mumbled through a mouthful of pizza, but this kid didn't seem to be buying it. He pulled the other chair out and sat down across from him.

"Well, at least let me get you some real food, yeah?" He said, gently sliding the dirty pizza box out of Patrick's hands. "This... This isn't people food. I brought some pasta, and there's enough for two. Let me help, okay?"

His mouth salivated at the thought of anything other than pizza right now, but he couldn't take this guy's food, right? That was out of the question. But his brain was too fried right now to say anything remotely intelligent, so he hesitantly nodded and rested his head on the table while the guy went over to the microwaves.

Oh, god, the carbonara tasted better than anything he'd eaten in his life. The guy chuckled quietly to himself while Patrick pushed as much as he could down his throat, as if it wasn't going to be there for very long and the guy was going to snatch the bowl back. He downed every morsel of food in that bowl, and then licked the fork clean, before realising what that must have looked like.

"Hungry, huh?" The guy gave him a warm smile, before gently swapping their bowls around. "Here."

Patrick blinked a few times, before rubbing his mouth on his hand and trying to form a coherent sentence. "Yours."

"No, no, it's okay. I've got plenty more at home. You look like you need it a lot more than I do right now."

He glanced at the guy again for confirmation, and when he got a reassuring nod, he dove into the second bowl. He ate quickly, but not as quickly as the first bowl. He needed to slow down or he'd make himself sick.

"I'm Pete." The guy, Pete, introduced. "You're uh, you're not looking too good, dude. Is everything alright?"

"Patrick." Patrick mumbled, licking the fork clean.

"It's nice to meet you, Patrick." He said uncertainly, but still offering a reassuring smile when Patrick glanced up at him. "It's 11pm and you're in a college kitchen eating dirty pizza, and, uh, you wanna tell me what's happened?"

Patrick opened his wallet and set his student ID down on table. He looked nothing like the smiling kid in the photo anymore, considering that Kevin had cut his hair while he was sleeping, he hadn't actually gotten a full night's sleep in about a month and _really_ wasn't feeling too good at the moment, but it had his name. "I-I'm allowed to be here."

"I know, that's okay." Pete gently pushed the card back across the table. "I'm not trying to kick you out. You're just very pale and a bit out of it, and I'm just, I just want to check that you're okay before I head home. Did you take anything? Maybe got a pill from someone you didn't know? It's okay if you did, I'm not gonna judge you, I just wanna check you're okay."

Patrick shook his head quickly, and then groaned from the sudden disorientation that that caused. "My, I... My brother..."

Pete's demeanour changed immediately. "Oh, shit, dude. What, did he hit you?"

"I, I don't remember..."

"Okay, okay, that's fine. Do you have a safe place to stay tonight?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Okay, awesome. Let me wash these dishes up, and then I'll walk you to where you need to go, okay? You're... You're probably concussed and it's a bit concerning. You might need to go the hospital."

"No, no." Patrick mumbled, forcing his wallet back into his pocket and zipping his sweater back up. "I'm fine."

"Okay, that's fine. As long as you're not alone tonight, I'm happy."

Patrick dug his fingers into his pockets to keep himself warm as they wandered out of the kitchen and back to Patrick's car. It was hideously dirty, Patrick hadn't been able to fork out money for a car wash in months, but it was dry, and safe, and everything he needed. He unlocked the vehicle, and went to climb into the backseat, when Pete's arm was on his once again.

" _Please_ don't tell me you live in your car, dude..."

"I..."

"C'mon." Pete pulled him back to his feet. "I'm not leaving you here. It's fucking _freezing_ and you'll be dead by tomorrow morning if I leave you here with a concussion. A few friends and I have an apartment. It's nothing special, it's a bit of a mess, actually, but it's dry and warm, and we've got a sofa bed, so you'll have a bed for the night. You're not staying in your car tonight."

Patrick couldn't argue, and just nodded unsurely. "I'll, I'll meet you there..." 

"What? No, you're not in any shape to drive right now. My car isn't too far away-"

Patrick had to cut him off there. "I'm not _leaving_ my car. It's, it's _everything_."

Pete bit his lip, and nodded slowly. "That's... Okay, I get that. How about we take your car then? I can drive. My roommates can drop me back tomorrow to pick up my car. It'll be fine."

Patrick reluctantly handed the keys over, and then shuffled into the passenger seat. Stars clouded his vision, and he leaned back against the fabric to rest his aching head. He assumed Pete drove him to the apartment he was talking about, or something like that, but the only thing he could remember was the feeling of the soft bedsheets as he snuggled up into a clean bed for the first time in a month.


	2. I'm Not Sure Who You Are, But I like Your Bed

The first thing that Patrick noticed when he woke up was the familar weight of a soft, heavy blanket covering his shoulders. It wasn't the one with the foil lining he'd bought to keep himself warm, this was a _soft_ blanket that provided comfort as much as warmth. And _god,_ it felt wonderful.

The second thing he realised was that this was not his car, nor was this his bedroom, or anywhere at home. This... _Place,_ was something he didn't recognise in the slightest. And in alarm, he bolted out of the bed and stood up.

"He's up!" An unfamiliar voice called, and Patrick glanced up at the guy. He wore red checkered pyjama pants and a loose hoodie, and had some pretty scene-looking bangs swept over his face. Even though Patrick had _no_ fucking clue who he was, he smiled. "How'd you sleep, Patrick?"

"How do you k-know who I am?" Patrick stammered hesitantly. "Where am I?"

Another guy, a bit taller with curly hair, walked into the room, and sighed. "And this is why we don't rescue lost souls, Pete."

Pete brushed him off. "Shut up, Joe. You don't remember me?"

Patrick shook his head quickly, and scanned around the room. He spotted his backpack, and quickly picked that up, but then he realised he didn't have his most prized possession. "My car!"

"It's just outside." The guy walked over to the window and pulled some curtains open, revealing his baby parked on the street. "It's safe. You're safe here. I met you last night, at the D-Block kitchen. You were a bit out of it, and I made you some food, and you didn't seem okay so I brought you back here so you'd have a safe place for the night. I think you have a bit of a concussion, dude. I'm Pete."

"How did I get a concussion?" Patrick mumbled, mostly to himself.

"You said something about a brother." Pete said, not drawing attention to it as he wandered back towards a kitchen of sorts. "C'mon. I'm cooking bacon. Grab a seat."

There was another guy in the kitchen, sitting at the island and eating a bowl of cornflakes. Patrick hesitantly sat down beside him and ran a hand through his choppy hair. "I-I'm sorry that you, uh, had to rescue me. Thank you, though..."

"All good, man." Pete smiled. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't die in the middle of the night. You didn't, thank god. But you still seem a bit out of it, you might want to see a doctor soon."

Patrick folded his arms uncomfortably. "Yeah..."

"Is that a yeah because you don't have healthcare or is that a yeah because you don't wanna explain what happened to a doctor?"

_Fuck, this guy was good._

"Oh, no, I'm still on Mom's healthcare plan. I just, it should clear up in a few days. I'll be fine." Patrick mumbled. How much had he told his guy last night? What even _happened_?

"What's the last thing you remember?" Pete asked, presenting Patrick with a plate of hot, greasy bacon.  _God, that smells so fucking good._

The first bite, the taste as it hit his tongue, and the fact that it wasn't stale pizza, made him salivate. He made sure to enjoy every bite, and only looked up from his plate once he swallowed and realised that Pete was _staring_ at him with this inquisitive smile the entire time.

"I-I, I don't know." He responded honestly, glancing down at his lap. "Thank you for breakfast..."

"That's alright." Pete nodded, adding some more pieces of bacon to his plate. "I'm sure it'll come back to you. Eat as much as you want, dude. It's fine, it really is."

Patrick chowed down, and Pete filled the awkward silence with mindless conversation. "So this is Andy. The three of us share this place. It's not much, but it's home. You're more than welcome to stay until you're feeling a bit better, dude. I think you need to see a doctor though. Just to check that it's not anything serious. I saw that you're a student, that's pretty cool. What are you studying?"

Patrick gulped the last of the bacon down, and then stared down at his hands while he thought about that. "I... I, uh, I don't know..."

Pete seemed a little more concerned suddenly. "What year is it?"

"Two thousand and ... Something?"

"Who's the president?"

"I'm not sure..."

"Yeah, dude, you _definitely_ have to go to a doctor."

Patrick waved his hand. "It'll be fine. I'll go home and see Mom and she'll sort me out. It's no big deal."

"No, it's a big deal." The Andy guy looked up from his cereal. "I'm with Pete on this one."

"Look, thank you for the breakfast, but I should be heading home anyway, thank you guys." Patrick lifted his backpack off the floor and found his car keys, before they were quickly snatched out of his hand.

"You're not driving anywhere. Dude, you're looking better than you did last night but you still look like shit, man. Come with me, yeah?"

He followed Pete down the hall, expecting to go to some sort of garage, but instead Pete pulled him into a bathroom, and closed the door to give some privacy.

"Look, dude. You, uh, last night you told me you'd been sleeping in your car for a while and I just want to offer a shower or whatever you need." He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "There's soap and shampoo and shit in there, and then, if you need a razor or something, there's a pack under the sink, and if you want to bring some clothes in from your car we can wash them for you. Do you have anywhere to be soon?"

Patrick tried to think about that. He had a job, yes. Pizza Hut. When did he last work? That was a good question. But when was his _next_ shift? That was an even bigger question. Then classes. He had his lecture on a Thursday night, and then his tutorial was on Monday morning. He bit his lip nervously. "W-What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"I... I think I'm okay then." He mumbled. "I... I should call work to check shifts, but classes aren't until Thursday so I'm okay."

"The Pizza Hut, right?"

"Yeah." How much had he _told_ this guy last night?

"Okay, cool. I'll call them while you're in the shower. Get yourself all cleaned up. Uh, these are some of my spare clothes, I think they should be fine. They're clean. And hey, uh, it's alright if you don't wanna head home for a while. Things seem pretty shitty there. I get it's probably a bit weird, like, waking up in a random apartment with 3 random guys, but we're happy to have you if you don't wanna spend another night in your car. It's fucking cold out there."

Patrick mumbled a thank you, and Pete left him to it. He took full advantage of the hot water, and shampooed his hair 3 times to get the dirt out. Even the soap smelled really damn good. Pete's clothes were a little big, but they fit, and a shave had never felt better in his entire life. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, he was a changed man.

Pete had packed up the sofa bed, and Patrick wandered back to the kitchen. He didn't know much about any of these guys, but Pete was the most familiar, so it was Pete that he was going to hang around. At this moment, Pete was washing up the dishes, but smiled when Patrick came around the corner.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I... Thanks." Patrick mumbled in gratitude. "I appreciate it."

"All good. Hey, uh, let's _talk._ " He glanced up, and Patrick's shoulders slumped as he realised what this guy wanted to talk about.

"What did I tell you last night?" Patrick sat down on the stool, his leg bouncing with anxiety.

"Not a lot. I asked if you were on any drugs, because I mean like, you were eating pizza that literally had a footprint on it. It was _really_ bad. You said no, and then you said you had a brother. And then I asked if he hit you, and you told me yes."

That statement hung in the air for a second, before Patrick quickly tried to mitigate the situation.

"He doesn't mean to hurt me. He probably didn't even hit me this time. I mean, I'm really clumsy, I probably walked into something. Kevin, I mean, he's just a kid, you know? It's all fine. He's not that bad, he's really not."

"Has he ever hit you?" Pete pushed.

"Well, _yes_ , but I mean-"

"No 'but's'" Pete told him firmly. "He hit you. It doesn't matter whether he meant to hurt you that badly, how old he is, what you did. He hit you. That's not okay."

Patrick stood silent.

"Why do you live in your car?"

"I don't _live_ in my car..."

"Do you feel comfortable staying at home with your brother?"

"No..."

"Do you have another home that you stay at?"

Patrick folded his arms in defeat.

"Why do you live in your car?" Pete asked again, knowing Patrick couldn't deflect it this time.

"Just, just to get out of the house. Get some peace and quiet, you know? He's everywhere, and there's always something going on with him, and I just, I couldn't keep cleaning up after him. He kept stealing my stuff, and there, there were some savings that I had, and he, he just, yeah..." Patrick trailed off uncomfortably at the end. "And, Mom won't do anything about him because he's her baby, and I'm just, she kept telling me that if I didn't like it then I was free to move out, but I didn't really have the money to move out because he _took_ my money, but then he started with the drugs and, and it just wasn't safe for me there anymore..."

"Shit, dude."

"And none of my old friends take me seriously because I'm the older one, you know? I mean, I should be able to handle him but he's like a foot taller than me and so much stronger and he could snap me in half if he wanted to. It's just easier in my car. It's my own space, I can lock the doors, it's cold but it's okay. I can get to everywhere I need to go and I can work. I'm out of there now."

"Dude, your car doesn't count as _out of there._ "

"It's fine until I can save some money." Patrick sighed, putting his arms around himself. "I've picked up more shifts at work and they're paying good, so I've got gas money and savings and I'm not going hungry because there's always extra pizza. And then the McDonalds guys are letting me use the wifi to work on my assignments, and the library on campus is going to open 24 hours during exams so I should be able to stay there sometimes too."

"There are literally so many things wrong with what you just said." Pete frowned, stacking the dishes away. "Pizza isn't a diet. And dude, what the _fuck_ were you eating last night? You can't eat that shit. At least hit a soup kitchen or _something._ "

"It really doesn't taste all that bad..."

" _Dude._ "

Patrick scowled. "It's fine. Look, I don't sleep in my car _all_ the time. I go home every now and then. Mom's always glad to have me, I still have a room there, I can still clean myself up. It's good."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "But you don't _stay_ there."

Patrick sighed. "Thank you, for last night, but I'm doing fine. I promise."

"Dude, you are literally the _opposite_ of fine." Pete rebutted. "Trust me, I would be doing the same thing if I was in your position. You realise you're in a situation of domestic violence, right?"

"This isn't-"

"Yes, it is." Pete told him firmly. "He's abusive. And clearly you're not doing too good. He fucking hit you so hard you got a concussion. I understand your side dude, but you need to stop making excuses for him. And for your Mom too. You really, really deserve better."

When Patrick didn't say anything in response to that, Pete picked the conversation back up. "So let's talk doctor. You're on your Mom's healthcare, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll... I'll go home and she'll take me to a doctor. Or she'll look after me for a few days. I think Kevin's broken his hand so Mom's taken some time off to take care of him so she'll look after me. And then once I'm better I'll probably head out again. I'll have to call work..."

"I did that. Your next shift is Saturday, 3-8." Pete added. "I told them you needed a few days."

"PETE!"

"Dude, you're fucking _concussed._ "

"Yeah, and fucking _homeless!_ " Patrick countered. "I need that money! I'll have to call them back."

"You just said that your Mom would look after you!"

"Yeah, that means _not kicking me out_."

"That's not looking after you!"

"I don't need to be looked after!" Patrick snapped. "I'm _fine._ "

"You're _really_ not, dude." Pete said, before realising he might have crossed a boundary. "I just want to help you, yeah? Nobody deserves this shit. You're more than welcome here any time, and the sofa bed is always going to be open for you. Your car isn't a home. I'm not going to let you drive right now, but I can drive your car home with you in it, just so I know you got back to your Mom safely.  But I will give you my number, because if it's not safe to stay there, then you're coming back here. No sleeping in your car during the winter. You'll fucking _die._ "

Pete drove him home, after he'd washed Patrick's clothes and gave him a plastic bag of various snacks to keep in his car for when he needed them. He parked out front, and headed towards the nearby bus stop.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay, dude? I can take you to a doctor if you don't want to face this."

"It's not that bad. I'll be fine." Patrick nodded. "Thank you, though. I'll see you around."

"Call me if you need anything."

Patrick nodded, but there wasn't anything behind it. Pete was a nice guy, but Patrick wasn't leaning on anyone anymore. He was independent. It was safest that way.


	3. I Don't Need You

Patrick's Mom looked after him for a couple of days, and for a couple of days, he was able to lie in bed in a sleepy concussed haze and ignore everything going on around him.

The doctor had told him that yes, it was a concussion, but when he asked what had happened, Patricia had squeezed her son's hand so tightly that Patrick had lied and called it a slip. He knew that he really shouldn't be lying to his healthcare professionals, but that was the price he paid for still being listed on his Mom's healthcare card.

Kevin generally stayed out of the way during his short vacation home, which was a big relief. Sure, he didn't _apologise_ for punching Patrick in the back of the head, but he also didn't do anything to make it worse. That was a win in Patrick's book.

By Sunday, he was ready to leave. He'd gotten his clothes washed, his car cleaned, and he was back at work now, so his pay check had returned and his bank balance had enough for a bit of food and a tank of gas.

He was packing his car with the bags of groceries he’d bought earlier in the week, when Kevin came and sat down at the kitchen.

“You can’t take Mom’s food.” He said slyly, pulling a bottle of juice out of the fridge and taking a swig. “It’s not yours to take.”

“It’s not Mom’s food.” Patrick countered, wrapping his sandwiches in plastic wrap to keep them good for a few days. “I did my own shopping on Friday. I’m just making sure that I’ve got something to eat for a while.”

“No you didn’t.” Kevin outright lied, and Patrick clenched his fist. “Mom did her groceries on Friday and you went with her. You’re _stealing_ from your own _mother._ You’re stealing from our _family._ It’s your choice if you want to go run rampant and be a free spirit, but I’m not going to let you steal from Mom!”

“I paid for this!” Patrick countered, a little louder now. “Mom bought her stuff and I bought mine! We brought it home together and put it in the kitchen! I’m not taking anything that I didn’t pay for!”

Kevin scoffed at that. “Of _course_ you did. If you’d bought it, you’d fucking hide it up in your room like you always do. Fuck, you do that even when you didn’t pay for it. The reason there’s never any food in this fucking house is because you’re always eating everything!”

“There’s never anything to eat in the house because you eat is as soon as Mom brings it home!” Patrick countered, throwing his sandwiches into his bag and quickly trying to get out of the house.

“I’m not letting you steal from Mom!” Kevin put his hand on Patrick’s bag, and Patrick froze up. “It’s not like you need any more food anyway.”

Patrick tried to ignore the comment about his weight, and tightened his grip on his bag. “It’s _my_ food! If anyone steals from Mom, it’s you! I at least make enough money to buy my own food, you’re the one who stole her credit card and gave it to some homeless guy as long as he bought you beer!”

Kevin didn’t say anything, just held a smirk at Patrick at the same time he held a much stronger grip on Patrick’s bag of food.

“Kevin, this is _my_ food. Please, just let me go.” Patrick tried, when he realised his argumentative style wasn’t going to work here. That smirk never meant anything good.

The hit came a lot faster than he expected. Well, he wasn’t expecting it at all, but by the time he realised what was happening he didn’t even have enough time to flinch. Kevin’s fist ploughed into his nose, sending it flying backwards and taking the rest of his body with it. Patrick didn’t have to see the blood to know it was there, the familiar trickle on his upper lip telling him he needed to leave, _now_. He stumbled backwards, and clutched his nose while Kevin smirked at him once again.

“You try to steal from us again, and it’s going to get a _lot_ fucking worse for you.”

 

 

 

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The golden arches had become Patrick's makeshift home. As long as he bought a box of fries, then he could sit in the bathroom and wipe the blood from his face and inspect what the injuries were.

His nose was swelling and bruising badly. They wouldn't let him work the front counter like this, which meant another night working the kitchen. He slumped down on the floor (the cleaning sheet on the back of the door said it'd only been half an hour since it'd been mopped, so he judged it as okay), and groaned as he put his head in his hands. He could take some Advil to get rid of the headache, but he didn't have his food now, so if he spent the money on some medication then he'd be eating old pizza until the next pay check came through.

Not that he had a choice, though.

He put a hand to his head and after a few minutes of self-loathing and picturing he was anywhere else, he pulled himself to his feet and went to leave the bathroom. He'd only pushed the door open 45 degrees, when his eyes were drawn to the booth on the end. The faces were familiar, and as soon as he recognised them, he quickly stepped back into the bathroom and froze up.

_It's that fucker who let me sleep on his couch._

He couldn't go out and face them, he hadn't spoken to them in weeks and never wanted to again. His face was an obvious giveaway that things hadn't improved for him, and as much as he appreciated that night, he didn't want their sympathy. Things were fine. He was doing fine. He was managing just fine on his own, and his face would be fine if Pete didn't make him go home in the first place.

Patrick figured he could wait it out. He sat back down in the cleanest looking corner of the men's room, and killed time with his phone. Once they finished, he could sneak out and it would all be fine.

"Patrick?"

_Fuck._

He glanced up. He was hoping for _anyone_ other than Pete, but of course it was that guy who had to use the McDonald's bathroom. Patrick hoped that if he avoided eye contact that he might be able to avoid this guy, but when he knelt down in front of him, he knew that wasn't an option.

"Dude, what the _fuck_ happened to your face?"

Patrick sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "I don't need your help right now."

"You're sitting on the bathroom floor in a McDonalds, dude."

Patrick glared at him. "I _know_ that."

"Shit, dude... Is it broken?"

" _No._ " He hissed, folding his arms and looking away from this guy. "I'm _fine._ "

"Let me have a look. Please." Pete sat down cross-legged in front of him, and Patrick sighed.

He winced when Pete gently touched the bridge of his nose. "B-Be gentle..."

"Dude..." Pete leaned back on his hands and sighed deeply. "I think you've broken it."

"It's _fine._ "

"You're gonna ruin your face forever if you don't get that looked at."

After giving Pete the dirtiest death glare he could muster, Patrick was pleased that he seemed to back off a little bit. Pete sat for a moment, before standing up and offering Patrick a hand.

"C'mon. I was stupid and thought I was hungry enough for 2 burgers. Come eat my second one or I'm going to throw it out."

There were 2 other guys at the table, but Patrick didn't pay too much attention to them while he devoured the burger. Sure, it was a little cold by now, but it wasn't the dollar menu, and it had all the good bits and the sauces and he destroyed that thing as fast as he possibly could.

"Slow down, buddy. Don't wanna get indigestion." Pete laughed, awkwardly.

Patrick finished, then licked the grease off his fingers. The other two guys were staring at him, and Pete gently placed the soda cup in front of him. He took a sip, and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Of course they were staring at him like he was from some other planet. These guys probably never had to worry about where their next meal was gonna come from. Every night they got to home to their fucking apartment and to a warm fucking bed, and there was a kitchen that was _theirs_ and they could eat whenever they wanted to. They didn't know anything about stocking up on calories now, so that if there was no spare pizza when the store closed they wouldn't have to go to bed hungry.

"Do you want another one?" Pete asked softly, digging in his pocket for some change.

"No, no." Patrick mumbled, suddenly _very_ aware that he was taking this guy's food and had only sat here and been _bitter_ about it. "That, that was plenty. Thank you..."

"All good." Pete assured him. "You wanna come over and watch some TV? I think Andy's planning a Star Wars marathon today so it's gonna be a good time if you want in."

"I..."

"I'll patch your nose up. C'mon. It'll be fun."

 

 

 

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Patrick hadn't let Pete convince him to go to the emergency room, so now he was sitting in Pete's loungeroom with a band aid on his nose and a bowl of popcorn as they watched Return of the Jedi. It was awkward, that was for sure. The other three were having a great time, and making jokes and enjoying the film. Patrick loved the film himself, but instead was focused on savouring the popcorn before the bowl was gone.

It was a nice afternoon, actually. The other guys seemed funny, even if he felt too awkward to join in their conversation. They watched the movies well into the night, and then the Andy guy cooked them all dinner. It wasn't until Andy and Joe crashed for the night that Pete tried to talk to him.

"So... You didn't learn from last time, huh?"

Patrick sighed. "What was I supposed to do? I was concussed. I had to be at home for a few days and Kevin was an asshole when I tried to leave again. That's how it always goes. That's why I _don't_ go home."

"So why did you?"

"Because you made me?!" Patrick accused, a little louder than he meant to.

"I didn't make you do anything other than see a doctor, dude."

"Which involves going home so I could recover."

"Dude, I promised you that you had a bed here." Pete sighed.

"Well, maybe I can't just sleep in some stranger's house!" Patrick countered. "I mean, _thank you,_ but at the same time I don't know anything about you and I feel guilty taking shit from random people!"

Pete thought about that for a second, before gesturing for Patrick to sit at the table. It wasn't until they were seated that Pete smiled at him. "So, let's not be random people. I'm Pete. It's nice to meet you."

Patrick groaned, and would have slammed his head into the table if his nose wasn't broken.

"Dude, I wanna help you, yeah? That's all. You're clearly in a pretty shitty situation and you don't really have anywhere  to go, so, y'know, it's cool if this place can be your backup. You're not eating, you're getting attacked in your own fucking home, and your family really doesn't seem to give two shits. But you're welcome here, you know? There's always a meal and the bed and I have a friend who's a medical student so that's cool. She's not a _doctor,_ but she's pretty far into medical school so I'm sure she'd be happy to clean you up. Don't feel bad for needing like, basic human rights. You're owed so many of them."

Patrick huffed.

"Your car isn't a home, Patrick."

Patrick glared at him. Sure, this guy was trying to be nice, but Patrick didn't _want_ this interference in his life. He'd worked so hard for this independence, and he was going to make a better life. By _himself._ He had everything in place so he'd be able to get a place to stay soon enough, and then he was going to finish his degree and he was going to find himself a well-paying job so he could afford to pursue music.

This guy meant well, but at the same time, telling these sorts of things to Patrick made him angry. He _was_ capable of sorting him own life out, and this guy was trying to cut in and almost, well, it felt like cheating. He needed to stop taking. Patrick was just _fine_ on his own.

"Well, _maybe_ I have a house deposit now." It was an outright lie, and Patrick hardly believed it when it left his lips.

"Wait, really?" Pete grinned, really big. "That's so awesome, dude! I'm so happy for you!"

"Yeah, I'm going to check out places tomorrow." He continued, trying to make his face agree with what his mouth was saying. "And, and work has given me more shifts so I can keep up with rent, and yeah. I'm out of home now. I just had to go home to pick up a couple of things when Kevin hit, so I'll be fine now."

"That's so good!" Pete seemed so happy, but Patrick ignored the guilt in his stomach. "I'm so glad that you're gonna have a place. You're more than welcome to stay until the move in day, though. But that's so good for you, dude. Good job!"

"Thanks..."

 

 

 

\-----------

 

 

 

He told Pete that he found a place just out of town. It was a bit of a drive from the campus (and Pete's place), but it was a nice little place that had a bedroom and a kitchen and was vacant, so he could move in straight away. He told Pete that he was very grateful for the help he'd gotten, and he wouldn't have found a place without his help.

In reality, Patrick spent his pay check on pain medication and a special bandage for his nose. So now, he was sitting behind the Italian restaurant on the edge of town, texting Pete photos of an empty apartment he found on google images, while eating stale garlic bread that he'd found in the dumpster.

It wasn't ideal, but he was okay. He'd build himself back up, slowly. No shortcuts allowed. But he was going to do it, and victory was going to taste much sweeter once he'd earned it.


End file.
